The Guild Chapel in Stratford-upon-Avon presents its congregation with a vision of terror: a medieval Doom painting depicting the Day of Judgment. On the left are those who have behaved themselves – the Saved – who joyously bound towards the gates of Paradise. On the right, sinners pay the price for falling short of the moral mark: they are tortured by demons and fed into the Mouth of Hell, to be swallowed by a fanged serpent.
This summer, another Day of Judgment looms. Yesterday, thousands of UK 18-year-olds will receive their A-Level exam results. In one nervous scroll, years of schoolwork was validated, university places confirmed or denied, and future careers seemingly mapped out.
History tells us that setbacks – rather than successes – tend to be greater stepping stones
For many, this can seem alarmingly black and white. For the Blessed – with their university place confirmed – the day is pure relief, marked by tears of joy and pops of champagne corks. For the Damned – those who missed the grades – they descend into a hellish, doom-and-gloom realm of disappointment. Clearing lists are scoured, papers submitted for remarks, doors slammed, and ‘All that teaching, gone to waste…’ muttered across the breakfast table.
But should end-of-school exams dominate the focus of our teenage years? In the past, adolescents were tested in rather more unusual – often gruelling – ways. Some were given immense responsibility. By the time Empress Matilda was 18 years old – after two years ruling Italy – she was a dab hand at diplomacy, confident in sponsoring royal grants, leading petitions, and maintaining the peace. Others endured great trauma. In 1917, teenage C. S. Lewis arrived at the Somme and experienced the terrors of trench warfare. Here he saw ‘men’s stomachs fall out on their knees’, and ‘horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles’.
Then, there were those whose lives had been completely upended. Take Jacques Francis, a young man of the 16th century, born on the west coast of Africa and taken (most likely forcibly) to Europe. At A-Level age, his life had taken a strange turn. He lived in Southampton, staying at the Dolphin Inn (later, the venue for Jane Austen’s 18th birthday bash). From here, he worked as a diver to retrieve the cannons of Henry VIII’s sunken Mary Rose. Or what of Jeffrey Hudson, the poor Rutland boy born in 1619 with dwarfism. As a child, could he have believed the path ahead – that at 18 years old he would be shot to fame, the darling of the royal court, the favourite of Queen Henrietta Maria?
Some enjoyed the fruits of self-tuition. At 18 years old – despite no connections, wealth, or formal education – Mary Anning was already a respected palaeontologist. By walking the coast of Lyme Regis, she had discovered some of the greatest fossils ever found (still on centre display at the Natural History Museum), and was ‘writing and talking with professors and other clever men on the subject’, all of whom recognised that Mary knew ‘more of the science than anyone else in this kingdom’. What would self-taught Mary have made of the Results Day panic? Bemused, no doubt, at the dependence on school exams for validation, when her classroom – the Dorset coastline – and a keen eye, proved a recipe for success.
Of course, historic teens were plagued by more commonplace hurdles, too. When young Nelson set out to pursue a navy career, he faced mockery. ‘What has poor Horatio done,’ his Uncle Maurice wrote, ‘who is so weak, that he should be sent to rough it out at sea?’ Maurice’s concerns were soon cast aside: ‘But let him come, and the first time we go into action a cannonball may knock off his head and provide for him at once.’
The future hero of Trafalgar grappled with self-doubt, too, later admitting: ‘My mind was staggered with a view of the difficulties I had to surmount and the little interest I possessed’. But from the ashes of despair rose the phoenix of determination: ‘After a long and gloomy reverie, in which I almost wished myself overboard, a sudden glow of patriotism was kindled within me… I will brave every danger.’
When it comes to historical figures we admire, it doesn’t tend to be diligent school study – though worthy – which earns our respect. It is worth noting that no one – I reckon, ever – has gone down in history because of a healthy set of A-Levels. Even in dense historic biography, exam results only garner a passing comment. Instead, we latch onto anecdotes of endurance, principle, brilliance, or bravery. These are tantalising clues – and a much more telling insight – into a person’s success.
The remarkable life of Sarah Biffin (who deserves a Hollywood biopic) is a fine example. Biffin was born in 1784 without arms or legs. Despite this, and the deterrence of others (‘my parents discouraged the idea, thinking it wholly impractical’), Biffin taught herself to paint, using a paintbrush in her mouth, becoming one of Victorian Britain’s most celebrated artists – all while lacking AQA approval. At 18 – though she was not yet established – she had already developed the instrument of her success: an unwavering determination to overcome any obstacle.
Eighteen-year-old Elizabeth I is another figure worth considering. What would a modern therapist make of her, I wonder? There would be a lot to get through: executed mother, dead father, four stepmothers, sexual abuse from a stepfather (who was summarily executed), beloved half-siblings who are also rivals? Yet it was enduring such trials which gave Elizabeth her strength of character, which served her well during 45 years on the throne. Diamonds are made under pressure, and the immense pressure of Elizabeth’s childhood produced a dazzling diamond in a ruff.
Working hard is always worthy, but school exams aren’t comprehensive in their measure of character and are no guarantee of success. For those who missed the mark with A-Level results this year, welcome the news with open minds. This is a Day of Judgment. Will you be defined by this disappointment, or will something greater shine through – your Anning-like focus, or Biffin-like determination? History tells us that setbacks – rather than successes – tend to be greater stepping stones, which forge stronger contours of character. Learning to confront hardship, to overcome – not succumb to – failure, is a mightier achievement than any Edexcel accreditation.
Alice Loxton is the author of Eighteen: A History of Britain in 18 Young Lives
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